Parental Loss

‘Missing Mommy,’ by Rebecca Cobb

The death of a parent is a subject most people instinctively shy away from. That is, until it hits home; then parents, teachers, therapists and other caregivers are grateful for picture books that grapple with the hardest stuff faced by young children — whether it’s the loss of a grandparent or a pet, or in the case of “Missing Mommy,” one of the worst experiences of all.

“Missing Mommy” was originally published in Britain under the title “Missing Mummy,” and was immediately recognized as the sensitive, delicate act of compassion that it is. The first book that Rebecca Cobb has both written and illustrated, it stands as a remarkable achievement.

Those rare books that address grief and bereavement for young children often approach the subject obliquely or from a distance. Death comes to a family of bunnies; a dog dies unexpectedly. “Missing Mommy,” bracingly, addresses the topic straight on: “Some time ago we said goodbye to Mommy,” says the young narrator, clinging to a figure in black in a funeral crowd obscured by rain and umbrellas. “I am not sure where she has gone.”

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From "Missing Mommy"

He tries looking for his mother around the house, peeking under beds and behind sofas, at one point coming upon his father, lost in tears. Her belongings are still there, and clinging to one of her sweaters, the boy worries, “She must have forgotten to take them with her.” At another point, he asks his father when Mommy is coming back, and has to be told once again that his mother is gone.

This is painful material, and Cobb handles it with gentle acuity. Her watercolor and crayon drawings are appropriately sweet and childlike, with lots of white space to open up the darkness; the subject matter is grim, but the artwork is airy and appealing.

As baffling as death is to adults, it is even more confounding to young children, who are still figuring out what it means to live. Grappling with the permanence of death is nothing short of terrifying, and children often react to that fear with tumultuous emotion — anger, inappropriate humor, defiance. Cobb convincingly lays out these emotional swings from a child’s-eye view: “I am worried that she left because I was naughty sometimes,” the little boy confesses. “The other children have THEIR moms. It’s not fair.”

It’s not fair, and there is no happy ending to this kind of story; you will probably shed a tear while reading it. But Cobb successfully walks the fine line between dwelling on the child’s pain and wrapping things up too succinctly, in part by devoting several pages to the ways memorializing and celebrating a lost loved one can help the bereaved — child or adult — begin to recover.

The little boy and his sister not only reminisce over old photo albums with their father, they also get busy making themselves useful, vacuuming and doing dishes – “the things Mommy used to help with.” The boy learns to move on. But not without reassuring himself, on the final page, “I know how special I was to my mommy and she will always be special to me.”